Birthday Dethday
by AwesomePecan2
Summary: His broad shoulders set firmly to accommodate the burden weighing down on him. He raised his heavy head just as his back straightened up in some vain attempt to defy the brutally negative thoughts lashing out at him. With trepidation, he entered the cold room, his physical posture belying his inner turmoil. fem!PruCan, Character death, possible touchy subject, 'T' for safety.


**A/N: Hello! This was originally an essay for my English class, but I wrote it with PruCan in mind, so I just fixed what needed to be fixed, changed the names appropriately and voila! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I didn't writing it!**

**So, it's Canadaxfem!Prussia; just a heads up.**

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The near silent waiting room did nothing to ease the tension strengthening within the youthful man's chest. The usually carefree man watched with attentive eyes the happenings and occupants of the room with its grey-blue chairs and flower patterned wallpaper. In the far left corner wailed a child in the arms of either a very young mother or an older sibling. The younger girl next to her suggested the latter, though these days one could not be sure. The girl absently rocked the antsy child in an attempt to soothe him. Four seats down from him, a man stretched out languidly, gazing with unseeing eyes up at the ceiling. Glancing up himself, he saw an ugly pattern swirl into his vision, disorienting his mind. Before him, another man identical to him only by the visible anxiety shining in his eyes and the nervous rubbing of his hands, offered him a tired, knowing smile. Matthew Williams offered an anxious, yet supportive smile in return to the other expectant father, despite his coiling stomach and twisting nerves.

Seeing others surrounding the man and muttering assurances to him from time to time, made Matthew wonder about the locations of his sister and sister-in-law, who no doubt would be accompanied by their own spouses. He had called his sister just as the ambulance left with his wife, panicking as he threw himself into his car and pursued the white, blaring vehicle and yelling into the phone. His frustration grew. More than he did, certainly his wife would need all the support she could get. And like a child, he thought he might need to cling to his older sister and have her baby him like she used to in their childhood, whispering about grand tales of her fighting off the monsters so he could be safe and secure.

Matthew closed his clear blue eyes, which may not have been the best decision he could make. A whole new set of elements bombarded his olfactory and auditory senses. The bland waiting room reeked of disinfectant, while faint traces of strong coffee lingered in the sterile air. He could certainly catch a faint whiff of alcohol drifting through the air from the man four seats down. It made the bowels of his gut coil. It made his already edgy nerves increase and his tense muscles quiver.

The constant ticking of the clock clapped like thunder with every slow second that passed. It mocked Matthew for his internal state of panic and impatience. His wife Gisela had a trying seven months. With every resolution, it seemed a different problem took its place. She had feared for the life of their growing child, and he for them both. Yet while he remained in a near constant state of stress and concern, she retained her confident and intrepid nature. The powerful fire raging to life in her eyes every time a problem became resolved restored much hope within himself and confidence that his wife and unborn child would make it through. However, his wife had gone into premature labor mere hours before, and that sent his strength crashing into a metal wall.

Matthew's eyes snapped open after the shocking moment replayed on the reel of his memory when his name reached his ears. He looked up to spot the nurse peering around the room for him. Slowly, he stood on jelly legs and crossed the threshold to the unreadable man. Wide-eyed, he followed the shorter man through the halls. The sheer lack of color glared at him as he passed through the halls for no discernible reason. The sterile scent from the waiting room floated into the corridors, or perhaps it floated into the room. Whatever the reason, the sterile scent increased, forming into something close to hazardous. Nausea built in his stomach, rose up to his throat. He could taste that distinct sour taste that accompanied it on his cotton tongue. Weary and sick, he toddled behind the nurse, unable to exude the confidence and excitement he should at the prospect of seeing his waiting wife and new child.

The nauseous sensation settled like a stone in Matthew's stomach when his journey came to a halt in front of room four-seventeen. His broad shoulders set firmly to accommodate the burden weighing down on him. He raised his heavy head just as his back straightened up in some vain attempt to defy the brutally negative thoughts lashing out at him. With trepidation, he entered the cold room, his physical posture belying his inner turmoil.

The scent and aesthetic of the private room was no different than the hall. Equally dull and sterile, he let his eyes roam over the white stucco walls decorated with a drab, blue wall paper bordering the middle of the walls, traveling around the room, jumping the gap the door created to the other wall and back around. His eyes roamed over the machinery, the television set at the foot of the bed, the curtained windows, and the bedside table with a glass of water settled on top the cream colored surface, until finally they landed on the other occupant of the room.

Before him lay his wife in the deathly white hospital bed. Seeing her deceptively small frame sunk into the sheets, pale hair fanned around her head like some wild halo, did little to ease his worries. Her chest rose as she deeply breathed and her half-lidded eyes turned to him. His stiff legs brought him to her. His heart thundered like a drum in his chest.

Matthew knew he must have looked like a right mess to her. His usually kempt blond hair frizzed from the countless times he had run his trembling, grimy fingers through the thin strands. His warm eyes had muddled over and turned red from the little sleep he managed to steal every day. His pallor rivaled hers, and his lean body had thinned out over the months he spent fussing over the strong woman lying in the bed. His clothes had become untidy and wrinkled, and a stain marring the blue collar where he had spilled his coffee peeked out in an obnoxious way. She looked no better.

The victorious fire Matthew had expected to see dancing in her eyes was not there. A devastated emptiness filled them and in turn the nausea in his stomach bubbled like an active volcano. In contrast to the chilly despair icing his veins, the heat of anger wrapped around his heart. His tense body quaked. Not knowing what to do, he frantically shot his eyes around the hospital room, looking for that precious someone he knew he would never find. His breathing harshened and his chest heaved. By his sides, his hands curled tightly. His despair turned to fury and he collapsed by her bedside, choking on the lump in his throat.

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**A/N: Yes I would just cut it off right there. Because as much as it hurts me to see my babies hurt, I love to mentally and emotionally torture them in any way I can…**

**And the title; for those of you who know what it's in reference to, **_**no**_** it did not inspire the story, I just didn't know what to call this so I just looked through my iPod… Nope. No regrets!**

**Thank you for reading!**


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